


lessons in rationale and romance

by Codename_Mallory_Grace



Series: various stand-alone Ferdinand/Hubert fics [8]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, English Teacher!Ferdinand, M/M, Math Teacher!Hubert, Teachers, Teachers don’t think of their colleagues so formally, but let me have a victorian style romance in the modern era, no beta we die like Glenn, where saying first names is a sign of great intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22111408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codename_Mallory_Grace/pseuds/Codename_Mallory_Grace
Summary: It started with a mug. If Ferdinand was not in desperate need of one or if Hubert was not as possessive over it, they may have never taken an interest in each other.Luckily it did happen like that, and so much more followed.[Ferdinand and Hubert fall in love over the course of a school year.]
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: various stand-alone Ferdinand/Hubert fics [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483517
Comments: 14
Kudos: 174





	lessons in rationale and romance

**Author's Note:**

> Very minor spoilers for Sense and Sensibility, and Dracula too, I guess? If you care at all? Also apologies to fans who might be Romantics. I only have passing knowledge from an introduction course, so any misrepresentation is on me.

In hindsight, Ferdinand should have written off the entire day when he wakes up without any tea for breakfast.

Like how a certain individual in his life depends on coffee for energy, Ferdinand is equally reliant on the boost tea gives him. Except, tea is much more palatable than coffee, so it’s no wonder why his colleague is always bitter in the morning.

He’s running later than usual already, so he eats a quick breakfast and resigns himself to tea at school using the subpar equipment in the teacher’s lounge. Just maybe there will be tea leaves fresher than the last time he restocked the pile last spring.

There is not.

He feels his luck changing with a single unclaimed mug left in the cabinets, which he promptly fills it to the brim with hot water and a tea bag. It is obviously not a mug he would buy himself — the numbers and abstract symbols give that fact away quite plainly — but its thick handle and wide rim make the wilting tea leaves more palatable. He lets the tea steep as he walks towards his classroom for morning homeroom. By the time he finishes all his morning prep, the tea is ready.

Two sips into his drink, Ferdinand feels a shadowy presences behind him. Earlier in the school year, he’d jump at the slightest chill this man caused. But now — so used to the man’s ire directed at him — Ferdinand calmly faces the man with another sip of tea.

“Good morning, Dr. von Vestra!” He says as cheerfully as viciously Hubert von Vestra looks this autumn morning.

Without so much as a greeting, Dr. von Vestra says, “Mr. von Aegir, care to explain why you’re using that mug?”

“This one? It was the only one left when I arrived,” he says with another sip. It’s unlike the sullen teacher to care and he asks as much.

“Because that mug just so happens to be mine.”

It is like the man, however, to be this petty. If this is how their morning will start, then Ferdinand will reciprocate, “I was under the impression all faculty dishwater was communal.”

“Perhaps other ones, but that one is mine.” Dr. von Vestra crosses his arms and glares.

“It was in the cabinets with all the others, so it is only fair that I grabbed it this morning.”

“That was before you knew it was mine, and now that you do, I insist you return it to me. Now.”

“I have not even finished my drink.” Ferdinand holds the mug to make his point.

“I do not care.”

If the mug was not filled with hot liquids, Ferdinand imagines Dr. von Vestra ripping the mug out of his hands right then and there.

“If you are concern about another misusing it,” Ferdinand loudly sips more tea, but he doesn’t actually drink all that much, “I assure you I will return it clean and in one piece. Tomorrow.”

“Again, I do not care. Give me the mug back.” Dr. von Vestra actually looks murderous now.

The first morning bell saves Ferdinand from having to properly response.

“Oh would you listen to that, homeroom is about to start.” Ferdinand hurries over and opens the door for the students walking in with their heads down. In midst of greeting the students, in a vain attempt of lightening their spirits, he looks over his shoulder and calls over to Dr. von Vestra still glaring at him, “Come now, doctor, with that forbidding expression, you really will make a student cry.”

Dr. von Vestra makes a student cry within the hour.

Luckily for her, Ferdinand’s English class is her first period, and he allows her to sit in the back to recover from Dr. von Vestra’s petrifying glare.

As Ferdinand teaches the rest of the sleep-deprived youths literature they will no doubt forget by lunch time, he imagines ways to temper his fellow homeroom teacher and make their homeroom class less suffocating. His ideal plan would center around the mug Dr. von Vestra is so possessive over. Goddess knows why.

A lightbulb in his head turns on during an afternoon lecture.

* * *

A word on Mr. Ferdinand von Aegir:

He likes teaching, he likes debating the growing minds in his classroom, and he is a romantic and Romantic.

Proudly wearing his heart on his sleeves, Ferdinand’s romantic sensibilities are easily moved by grand gestures, by sweet sentiments, by the infinite ways ones can expression their emotions. He rails on romantic fiction for their limited and skewed vision of love and romance, but he still cries during the victorious moment the leads kiss for the first time.

Being a Romantic only amplifies his emotions. The good, bad, highs, lows. Luckily, he has words — and if he felt bold, music — as forms of expression. When he lets restraints go, one might call his art overwrought, but it’s his raw form in search of that Sublime thing.

Because the ugly truth of Ferdinand is he has seen betrayal of the highest degree that surpass any description. He left it behind him years ago. Yet, still he searches for something, anything, anyone to be so moving, so beyond the mortal plane, it would be Sublime.

It’s an crazy challenge. Bound to disappoint.

But one more thing about Ferdinand: he loves a challenge.

* * *

As soon as Hubert realizes his favorite mug isn’t in the teacher’s lounge again, he should have known something was wrong.

Figuring Mr. von Aegir failed to see the mug’s importance, he prepares to reprimand his fellow teacher for the second time this week. Truly, they are setting some kind of records. Maybe it will get Headmistress Rhea to rethink this mandatory-shared homeroom idea.

The man in question blithely goes on writing his first class’ notes on the board while Hubert’s mug sits on their shared desk with steaming liquid. From the scent alone, Hubert can tell Mr. von Aegir filled his mug with a fruity tea. Again.

“What is this?” Hubert says curtly and stops Mr. von Aegir.

“What is what?” 

Hubert wordlessly directs his eyes to the drink.

“I thought you’d want your mug back, but I couldn’t just give back without thank you for letting me borrow it. The tea is a fruit blend of my own creation.”

Relief that his mug is back in its rightful possession fills him until Mr. von Aegir’s wording brings back his annoyance. “I did not _lend_ it to you.”

“Details, details.” Mr. von Aegir waves his hand off to the side. “I used your mug, and now I am repaying the favor.”

Repaying the favor, is he? What a lousy payment for an non-existence thing.

“I don’t drink tea,” says Hubert as he tries to glare Mr. von Aegir away.

“But it’s refreshing to drink something other than your typical beverage every now and again, is it not?” he says with a easy grin as if he expects Hubert to agree.

“It’s not."

“Are you always this difficult?”

“Only when I haven’t had coffee from my favorite mug.”

“Shame that,” Mr. von Aegir says without sounding the littlest bit remorseful and goes back to work.

Meanwhile, Hubert sits at the desk and pushes the offending mug away to write lesson plans. 

Last week’s test's averages are less than passable — moreso than usual — and he needs to find what requires more attention and what the students have a grasp on. Which is not much, he concludes and resigns himself to repeating a month's worth of lessons. It will put them behind schedule, but it’s imperative everyone understands the concepts now.

Absorbed in their respective work, Mr. von Aegir reaches behind him for a drink and grabs Hubert mug’s once again. Neither take special note of the action, until Hubert catches him putting the mug down.

Hubert prepares another remark of using another’s things without explicit permission, but he never voices them. From the quick look he spares the mug, something catches his attention. A clear lip imprint left on the rim of the mug to be exact. He does not expect to see such a clear mark, then again, he doesn't put it past Mr. von Aegir to wear heavy amounts of chapstick that could leave mark like this. The man is certainly vain enough.

Yet, the faint marks — which are only apparent under harsh light and the difference in shininess of the mug — captivate something within Hubert.

He doesn’t know what, he doesn’t know if he wants to know, and he doesn’t have time to know.

The first morning bell rings and his equally reluctant homeroom students file into the classroom. In between settling everyone into quiet for the hour, Hubert steals glances to mug, and hopes Mr. von Aegir doesn’t notice him.

* * *

A week passes much like those before, with the addition of Ferdinand’s own brightly colored horse-patterned mug in the teacher’s lounge for his own use as he begins drinking his morning tea at school. Turns out, tea at school makes him more productive. 

And due to his added time in the teacher’s lounge, he runs into Dr. von Vestra making his own drink. Often. They share as many words there as they do in the classroom — which is to say none. The increase in shared space also unwittingly alerts Ferdinand of Dr. von Vestra’s morning routine.

So when Ferdinand finishes making his tea one morning without seeing Dr. von Vestra walking in with a Medusa-like glare at everyone and everything, he worries. A little. Though not for the man himself, rather for Linhardt — the biology instructor — who eyes Dr. von Vestra’s mug, the last one in the cabinet once again.

Knowing the ire Dr. von Vestra can and will inflict over that mug, Ferdinand spares Linhardt of it.

With a mental apology to Linhardt, Ferdinand snatches the mug from the cabinets and makes the coffee himself. Surely after a week of watching Dr. von Vestra do the task makes him well equipped to replicate the bitter taste the man is so fond of.

After pouring copious amounts of coffee into the mug, Ferdinand leaves the teacher’s lounge — partly to do his morning preps and partly to escape Linhardt’s affronted looks.

Not even five minutes later, Dr. von Vestra runs into the classroom.

“You,” he says with venom, “took my mug again, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but not for my own use. I made you coffee,” he says and holds up said drink to prove his point.

Dr. von Vestra blinks at him. “You made me coffee?” He sniffs the drink and frowns. Once he takes it out of Ferdinand’s hand and drinks it, Ferdinand expects another insult, instead the man says, “Thank you.”

His heart flutters at a positive reaction from the "sinister and feared" doctor of the school, even when such pleasantry should be expected from everyone.

Ferdinand tempers his heart and says, “Think nothing of it really. I just saved another person from your glare when it looked like they might use it.”

“Serves them right for using another’s property without permission,” Dr. von Vestra says before taking another sip.

Ferdinand sighs at the familiar unpleasantness. “Items in the teacher’s lounge are communal,” he says.

“That might be the case if we all paid equal amounts for those items, or the school provided them. As it is, however, everyone had to bring in their own items. It is only fair they get to use.”

Ferdinand ignores the pointed looks at his own mug that, yes, he paid with his own money, but truly, he would not huff about it if someone else used it.

“Enjoy the coffee, doctor,” Ferdinand closes the argument that would surely go in circles.

If there is an extra bounce in his step for the rest of the day, no one, not even Ferdinand von Aegir himself, knows the cause of it.

* * *

“So, Mr. von A,” one of his third years, one Miss Severa, says during lunch, “is there something between you and Dr. von Vestra?”

“Here I was under the impression you had me a relevant question to ask,” says Ferdinand as he erases the board.

“I do have a question about the essay, but before that, what is up with you and him? And don’t say nothing, I mean, you even made him coffee, and everyone knows you hate coffee, Mr. von A. ”

“What makes you sure I made him coffee?”

“Niles overheard you guys last week.”

Ferdinand takes a mental note to follow up on that particular information. Facing Miss Severa properly, he says, “Any relationship between us is not for students to know. Now, as for your question?”

Lunchtime ends with Ferdinand’s ears feeling a little hotter.

* * *

A word on Dr. Hubert von Vestra:

He likes numbers, he likes observing and planning around those observation, and he is in control of his life.

Once, his family dictated his life, his friends, his education, his opinions, his schedule, his duties. It was the type of controlled environment he despised. When he was old enough, he broke away as fast as he could, along side his best friend. Their new path was unknown and completely up to them. It terrified him to the bones. Somehow, Hubert found a new focus in life. 

Math is the perfect outlet for Hubert’s desire to control the uncontrollable. Numbers have infinite possibilities with infinite combination, yet there always exist a logic, a rule, a reason, a constant throughout it all. Shapes are constants, but there exists infinite variations. Like a triangle will always have a sum of 180 degrees, but what of the individual angles, the leg lengths, the size, the color, the material? 

Hubert has never believed in any gods or goddesses, but he will always believe in the laws and structure of the universe: math.

* * *

Seasons change before everyone’s eyes, and soon Hubert scolds his students not for tardiness, but for tracking water and wet leaves into the hallway.

The strangest thing about the changing seasons is his new routine in the mornings. It takes awhile for it to settle, but once it does, Hubert finds himself implicitly learning how to make Mr. von Aegir’s favorite tea.

It starts when Mr. von Aegir is late to school for unknown reasons.

Unusual for the man to say the least, but the perfect time for Hubert to return Mr. von Aegir’s "favor". The "second" one. The "first" one certainly didn’t count.

In what he imagines to be a similar fashion, Hubert takes out Mr. von Aegir’s mug, which sticks out among the other muted color mugs, boils the water, and sticks the first bag of tea he spots into it.

It certainly tastes horrid, nevertheless, it’s hot tea ready in the classroom when Mr. von Aegir finally shows himself.

Mr. von Aegir even thanks him for it. After grimacing.

It happens again when Hubert runs late due to his normal, hellish traffic, and he seriously considers Edelgard’s suggestion to move closer to school.

Irritation pricks at him until he finds his mug full of coffee waiting for him on the classroom desk with a note:

_We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author._

Mr. von Aegir isn’t in the classroom at the moment, so Hubert lets a small smile slip out, which a frown promptly replaces as the intentions are nice and genuine, but Mr. von Aegir needs to improve his methods by a wide margin. Three brews does not an expert make.

The mug returns empty to the teacher’s lounge’s sink for washing.

* * *

Days continues on through the fall — without the excuse of assisting the other when late. Rather, it becomes simpler: if one arrives before the other, they make the other’s drink and have it ready in the classroom.

Following Mr. von Aegir’s lead, they also leave notes.

One day, Dr. von Vestra writes a series of equations with the question, _what is the value of x?_

The next, Mr. von Aegir writes:

_The true nature and value of an individual thing is contained with itself._

A day when Mr. von Aegir is particularly somber, he writes to Dr. von Vestra:

_We all look for happiness, but without knowing where to find it: like drunkards who look for their house, knowing dimly that they have one._

Dr. von Vestra’sreply has Mr. von Aegir torn between agreeing or disagreeing with the man:

_Happiness is infinite, is it not? Therefore, it’s not quantifiable, therefore no measurement of happiness exist._

And so it follows that they talk outside of the classroom.

* * *

“You’re teaching Dracula next?” Dr. von Vestra says first, prompting a conversation. “Are you trying to tell me something? Should I prepare for new rumors about my personage?”

“As if my lessons have any relations to you,” Mr. von Aegir says in the tone that once would be bitting, but now is filled with mirth. “I chose it because it excellent horror novel — just in time for All Hallows’ Eve — that most do not read in their lifetime.”

“Is the novel anything more than just a story about Dracula?”

“Yes! It’s a cleverly crafted horror novel in that the monster never actually appears. At least until the very end. Though the twist is pretty much known by everyone in this day and age, when read with the mindset of a 19th century reader it’s the best slow-burn horror novel published. The suspense is palpable on each page with no cheap gimmicks in sight.”

“Then,” says Dr. von Vestra before Mr. von Aegir talks away their short break, “maybe I will read it this All Hallows' Eve.”

“Please do!” 

Dr. von Vestra walks into school on All Hallows' Eve’s morning wearing a dark cloak, fake white mustache, and white hairs on his hands. When Mr. von Aegir sees him, he laughs and uses Dr. von Vestra’s costume to determine who read the assigned pages.

* * *

“I’ve been hearing an interesting rumor about you,” Edelgard, Hubert’s life long friend and ally in all matters, says one day as they grade midterms —him pre-calculus and her ancient world history.

“If this about my costume, it was Dracula as he was before the reveal. Not my idea of my future self.”

“I know,” she says with a smile Hubert knows only brings trouble, “as did every student in Mr. von Aegir’s second year class.”

“So?” He tallies the class average, better than before, as he says, “What is the rumor if not about my costume?”

“Merely that my best friend — the grump with a heart — is dating Mr. von Aegir.”

“Absurd,” says Hubert, almost too fast.

“Well… Your costumes paired very nicely.”

Flashes of an eerie red with a more charming face than usual distract Hubert from answering. “Because the Masque of the Red Death and Dracula would be a wonderful monster couple,” he finally says.

“Stranger things have happened in fiction.”

“Which is where any romantic relationship with Mr. von Aegir will remain.”

Hubert ignores Edelgard’s small “hmm” and focuses on the red markings on Miss Rebecca’s exam. The red, however, only remind him more and more Mr. von Aegir’s radiance of that day.

* * *

While friendliness grows, tensions still exists between them. When they fight, they fight like cats and dogs about the best teaching methods, grading styles, advice for students, or the direction the school is headed. Nothing personal because they keep it professional.

Yet everything is personal.

Like when Mr. von Aegir calls Dr. von Vestra a machine with no feelings and Dr. von Vestra loses sleep for the next week to nightmares of his former life. He was only their pawn in the grand scheme of things and he was so close becoming another heartless cog in their machine. He’s worked hard to not become his family or what they wanted him to become. Or so he thought.

Or like how Dr. von Vestra comments on Mr. von Aegir’s eagerness with a snider tone than usual, and Mr. von Aegir is reminded of his own classmate’s cruel comments about his person. They called him fake, annoying, and a host of other names because he didn’t curb or hide his enthusiasm as he got older. If anything, growing older helped him express himself more, which widen the gap between him and his peers.

Just as quick as they are to fight, they return to their normal banter and conversations. At least after the wounds scab over once again.

For as much as they seemingly repel one another, on the surface, they find something irresistible about the other.

And that is enough to keep them orbiting around each other together.

* * *

“Are you going to make me repeat this for the third time?” Dr. von Vestra nearly slams the pencil on the table in between them.

“Yes! How did you know that equation would work?”Mr. von Aegir points to the equation with more letters than numbers it might as well be a cipher. “Why does it work?”

Dr. von Vestra gives his overview lecture on derivation, and even writes out a few “simpler” examples, before giving up: “At this rate, it is just faster for you to accept that this is the right number, and the ideal dimensions for a new fence.”

“That seems like a dangerous precedent to set.”

“It’s not if it’s true.”

“But why?”

“Mr. von Aegir, I appreciate your curiosity and you coming to me for advice, but for both of our sanities, please just take this sheet and show it to your contractor. They can confirm or deny this estimate and go from there.”

Mr. von Aegir takes the sheet home with a frown and ponders the numbers all night until a breakthrough comes to him. At three in the morning. He texts Dr. von Vestra in the heat of the moment, only to receive two texts:

 _Congratulations_.

_Never message me this late again._

* * *

Because yes, by winter break, the two are on good enough terms to exchange phone numbers and message meaningless things as they come to mind.

* * *

_Do math people have favorite numbers?_ Ferdinand messages Dr. von Vestra during the one dinner he’s required at home for the holidays. 

_Yes,_ is the curt reply.

_… What’s yours?_

_39_

_Why?_

_It’s the sum of the first three powers of three and it’s the sum of five prime numbers (3 thru 13). It’s a neat number, when it looks like a messy one._

Ferdinand doesn’t quite understand what makes a number “messy,” but from then on, he looks for the number 39 more than any other. It doesn’t come up naturally often. The few chances he gets, however, he repeats the two quirks about the number he learned and finds himself fonder of 39 than any other number.

* * *

_If I have to read on more page of Marianne’s teenage “angst”, I’m going to throw the book into the fire,_ Hubert texts while reading one of Mr. von Aegir’s proclaimed favorite novels.

In rapid succession, message after message come in from Mr. von Aegir to the point that Hubert turns off his phone notifications until the evening. After recovering from the shock at the total number of messages, 32 to precise, he reads each rambling sentence with a smile.

He finishes the novel and sends back an equally long reply about his thoughts: Marianne is still unbearable, but deserved better, Colonel Brandon should’ve killed Willoughby in that duel, and Mrs. Jennings is his favorite character. That last one might be influenced by the adaptions he watched after reading. Not that he would tell Mr. von Aegir.

* * *

The spring terms begins with whirlwinds.

Requests for recommendations for college from third years come faster than ever before, college results come in — resulting in drama within the fourth year class, and, finally, the two big theater shows of the school year. Ferdinand has little to do with drama department’s production, but the entire fourth year class traditionally puts on a show, which he is heavily involved in as the director of the third act.

The play, Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing — not his favorite, but he appreciates, is fun. Almost too fun for his students.

While he cherishes the students’ vigor for the scenes with everyone tricking Benedict and Beatrice, some of their ideas are so much more than their limited budget allows.

But he tries. He tries so hard to make all and every idea work. Even if it means working late, after school, sewing and crafting in ways he’s never done before.

Take, for example, one night Ferdinand works in the theater, rigging his own pulley system. The students’ latest idea involves props zipping up into the “sky”. It goes well. Until he has to actually practice pulling the props.

As his latest attempt crashes onto the stage — where Claudio is marked to stand — he discovers he’s not alone.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Dr. von Vestra walks up to him and holds out his horse-patterned mug with fresh tea.

Ferdinand drops his tools and accepts the drink. Rejuvenated by one sip, Ferdinand says, “Thank you. And I hope not.” He takes another sip, appreciating how far Dr. von Vestra’s tea-making skills have come. “I just know this is possible. Other shows have done something similar.”

Dr. von Vestra looks around them and nods as if he’s figured it out. Which he has. He tells Ferdinand the proper angles for the ropes, the right counterweight, and so many other numbers Ferdinand can only grasp the basic meaning. Once they finish, Ferdinand marvels how quicklyDr. von Vestra is to help him. His smile and steps feel lighter after the thought. 

Eventually, the folding chair prop raises from the stage floor on command and Ferdinand jumps in place next toDr. von Vestra.

“It’s perfect! Thank you for your help!”

“Think nothing of it,”Dr. von Vestra says as if that is the end of the conversation. He even goes so far to collect his jacket, which he took off a while ago, so it’s a surprise when Dr. von Vestra asks, “How is the show coming along?”

“I can’t speak for the other acts, but act three is making progress faster than I thought. The students are heavily invested this year.”

“Then I look forward to seeing act three.”

“You’re seeing the show?” Ferdinand says as he feels a grin forming on his face.

“Admittedly I haven’t in the past. But… this year I will.”

“Then I’m glad for the change of heart.”

“As am I,” Hubert says so softly that Ferdinand almost misses it.

That finally closes the conversation, and together they walk to the teacher’s lounge, out the back door, and to their cars.

Ferdinand’s is closer, so they say goodbye in front of his parking space.

“Thank you again for helping me. And for the tea, it was delicious,” says Ferdinand.

“Of course.” Dr. von Vestra gives a mocking bow, which Ferdinand finds endearing.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Ferdinand.”

Hearing his name aloud changes something between them. They are no longer Mr. von Aegir or Dr. von Vestra. They can never be.

* * *

It’s absurd, crazy, and maybe even a little mad how quickly Ferdinand falls for Dr. Hubert von Vestra. 

His mind recalls they barely knew — let alone liked — each other just five months ago. And before that, they were just two teachers of different departments that occasionally passed by.

Then his Romantic and romantic sensibilities take over, as they are wont to do. His heart flutters every time their eyes meet. His mind can only think of poetry when the man speaks in that glorious voice. Every little touch — no matter if it’s just hands brushing while handing over a mug or elbows touching in the middle of the hallway — ignite sparks of inspirations that send him running to the nearest paper to write.

The _tea_.

From over-steeped tea to the perfect blend, and all without actually tasting any, speak louder to him than any other action.

And on the night of first hearing his name coming from… Hubert, Ferdinand rereads all his writing since five months ago.

That’s when he sees it.

The Sublime — the thing that he yearned beyond all else — is his heart. He just didn’t know its true shape until he met Dr. Hubert von Vestra.

* * *

“I am in love with Ferdinand von Aegir,” Hubert says, in place of a greeting, on Edelgard doorsteps.

She understands him well and has the grace to let him without anything else.

When they settle, she only says, “So you are.”

“That’s it?” he looks at her, almost imploringly.

“Yes?”

“No other questions, objections, warnings?” says Hubert as his mind muddles.

She lets them sit in silence before breaching the true reason Hubert visited her. “Why would I doubt your feelings?”

“Because they cannot be allowed!”

Edelgard gives him perspective, which he is just what he needs, and convinces him to not ignore... Ferdinand come tomorrow morning.

Nothing, however, can convince him of expressing these uncontrollable feelings.

He and Ferdinand could never work.

He, who lives by the logic of numbers, and Ferdinand, who lives in the moment and carried by his heart, are opposing forces. Being together means forcing the other to live by different rules. Rules that are carefully crafted to protect him and those he holds dear. Which now includes Ferdinand.

So he’ll follows his own theorem — if feelings are never spoken, then feelings are never known, then feelings never lead to expectations, then expectations never build to a relationship, then heartbreak cannot occur — and keeps a safe distance from Ferdinand.

* * *

Hubert best thrives when the variables in his life are in control.

Nothing is in his control this morning.

A snowy accidents delays him to school. Broken school doors make him walk around the building. The fourth year play has the students in the frenzy first thing in the morning and nearly hit Hubert with props. Ferdinand makes him his usual coffee. A faster heart beat renders him frozen in front of Ferdinand.

He recovers, once Ferdinand hands him the coffee, and they work together in silence.

The hairs on his neck stand tall under Ferdinand steady gaze on his person. Hubert does his best to ignore it, but it distracts him enough to send his mind wondering.

How did they interact before? What do they talk about? Is saying a first name really suited cause for this shift? Is it all in Hubert’s mind?

“Would you like to come to rehearsals today,” Ferdinand says while sounding like he wants to say more, “Hubert?”

It’s not in Hubert’s head, and that makes it so much worse.

* * *

Finding the Sublime means to find inspiration for emotions greater than before. And Ferdinand sure is feeling angrier than ever before.

The night Ferdinand finally gives into his heart seems to be the same night Hubert shuns his. Or at least that is what Ferdinand assumes from the few interactions he had with the man over the last week.

It’s almost amazing how well Hubert can avoid him despite them being required to be in the same space every morning. Almost. Right now these abilities give Ferdinand a headache.

He just wants to talk to Hubert. Well, it’s more than that, but just a conversation would be more than what they’re doing now.

After what feels like a year, really only two weeks, Ferdinand keeps Hubert long enough in one place to talk.

Unsure of what to actually say now that the man is in front of him, Ferdinand starts with, “Hubert, I — ”

“Stop,” Hubert says as a command.

“Why?” He feels his shoulders sag.

“Because what you’re about to say can never be taken back.”

So he knows what Ferdinand wants to say then? Fine. “What if I don’t want to take it back,” challenges Ferdinand.

“You will.”

“Neither of us can know that until I say it.”

That stumps Hubert until he says quieter than before, “It’s too soon.”

“We have only know each other for a few months, but that hardly matters.”

“It’s too fast.”

“I see.” If that is Hubert’s concern, Ferdinand is more than happy to accommodate. “Then how about we have this conversation after the fourth year’s show. Will that be enough time?

“Yes.”

Ferdinand hopes Hubert keeps his word.

* * *

The play is utter chaos and the students love it.

Ferdinand treasures the smiles on everyone’s faces as the unorthodox play goes on. Implied history not counting, he easily imagines himself and Hubert in the roles of Benedict and Beatrice. A verbally sparing couple who truly cares about those around and each other hit too close to home. But in the best possible ways.

Hubert taps on the armrest the entire show — no doubt annoying Edelgard sitting next to him. But can you blame him? In less than an hour from now, Ferdinand will confront him, Hubert will push him away and deny everything, and they’re expected to work together like normal by Monday morning. So forgive him if the impending confrontation distracts him from Miss Clair and Mr. Gray poor attempt at a battle of wits.

* * *

Despite wanting to run to Hubert, Ferdinand has duties after the show. Namely closing the theater and making sure all his students have safe ways of getting home. Poor Mr. Pelleas looks sick after the final dance, and his parents can’t be found. He nearly offers to drive the boy home, when Lukas — another English teacher — offers first and leaves Ferdinand free to find Hubert.

He’s just in time too.

He can’t spot Hubert’s tall, dark figure anywhere within the buildings, so he runs out to the parking lot, where Hubert is just opening his car door.

“Hubert!” he cries out and smashes a hand on the car’s door frame. “We promised to talk.”

“What do we have to talk about?” Hubert says without even turning towards him.

Ferdinand, now understanding Hubert as resistant, pointedly asks, “You plan to ignore this?”

“This?” Hubert lets out a harsh laugh. “What is _this_?”

Perhaps angrier at Hubert mocking and denying them this than avoiding him, Ferdinand says, “ _This_ is the fact that for the last three months I dreamt of you. Nightly. _This_ is every time you even so much as look at me, I feel my breath catching and want nothing more but the feeling to continue. _This_ causes me to lose my mind when whenever you smile or laugh, and it makes me want to keep you all to myself. And _this_ is something I hope you’d like to have a say in what I do with it.”

“Why would I have any involvement?”

“Because what I want involves the two of us being equals, partners, or some kind of deeper relationship that requires the two of us.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me? Of us?”

“Frankly, no. Mind enlightening me?”

“I’d admit the two of us get along better than either of imagined, but friendship is the only way we work. Your whims can carry you just fine, but I need order and reasons. And that’s fine as we are now. But we are too different for any deeper relationship to work.”

“Hubert, I think you’re brilliant, but this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Excuse me?” Hubert nearly turns to him, but stops himself. If that doesn't turn his attention, Ferdinand doesn't know what will. 

“So we have different methods in life? That’s fine. A relationship — friendship, romantic, or otherwise — doesn’t require perfect compatibility. In fact, I welcome the differences. I want to see life in new way. Your way. And before you say there are other ways we don’t work? So what? Isn't our relationship worth working for? Aren’t we worth it?”

Hubert visibly struggles to find words. He can only choke, “Alright, so what exactly are you saying?”

“Daft man,” Ferdinand says softly as all his anger leaves him, “I’m in love with you.”

Hubert finally faces Ferdinand, who can’t hold back anymore and kisses the tall, dark, handsome math teacher. The smile on Hubert lips is the only response Ferdinand needs.

* * *

A low whistle from the door breaks Ferdinand and Hubert away from each other. Standing the doorway is their homeroom class.

“Don’t mind us,” Mr. Niles says quite casually — the likeliest culprit of the whistle.

“Hell yeah! Mr. von A!” Miss Severa says with a fist pump into the air. “Get it!”

“Congratulations!” Miss Genny eyes shine with ideas.

As every students speaks their own thoughts, Hubert swiftly walks to the door, briefly meets eyes with Edelgard walking in the hallway, and closes the door at everyone’s faces.

“Hubert!” Ferdinand’s voice cracks. He re-tightens his tie Hubert, until moments ago, wrapped around his own hands.

“What?” Hubert locks the door. “Class doesn’t start for another five minutes.”

Any of Ferdinand’s protest is promptly silenced with another kiss.

Homeroom has never been so unproductive.

**Author's Note:**

> Did this work? I don’t know, but I hope you enjoy this fic.


End file.
